


and never let me go.

by SeeThemFlying



Series: Unspoken [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A slight hint of suicidal thoughts, Angst, Dark fic, Did I say angst?, F/M, I have put all my 2020 feelings into this, Post-show canon, not j/c friendly, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28553721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: After Cersei wins the final battle for the Seven Kingdoms, Brienne is taken prisoner and Jaime has to come to terms with his choice...A/N: Not J/C friendly.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Negative Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister
Series: Unspoken [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024483
Comments: 104
Kudos: 116





	and never let me go.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catherineflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/gifts).



> Ugh god, I wrote a dark fic and I know catherineflowers enjoys them so I thought I would dedicate this to her! This little fic basically has all the angst that has been bubbling under my skin for the past year, and is a post S8 fic where Cersei won, Jaime survived, and Brienne became their prisoner. I would say I hope you enjoy, but maybe that is not the right word.
> 
> (PS. The non-con element is only mentioned in passing, but I thought it was better to put the warning on, just in case).

The deaths start almost the moment the North surrenders.

Lady Sansa goes to the block with dignity, her cool blue eyes condemning even in her final moments, and she does not even deign Cersei - who has come to gloat - with so much as a glance as she kneels beneath the Sept of Baelor, just as her father had done before her. Even as the executioner bears his sword, she shows no fear, and Jaime cannot help but think her composure is the best revenge. The Dragon Queen had died in the fighting, so Queen Cersei's ire falls next on Jon Snow. He is the latest King of the North to die brutally but is much less surprised by the violence than his predecessor, who had been butchered at a wedding feast. The last legitimate Stark boy, who long ago saw something he shouldn't, drinks poison mixed with spiced wine in order to take his secrets to his grave. Jaime feels guilty; in the Winterfell godswood, Bran Stark had given him absolution.

Of the leaders of the Northern Rebellion - as it is now called - only Arya Stark escapes Cersei's wrath, and that is only because she manages to flit away like a shadow. Cersei rages and screams, of course, but Jaime only pretends to try to find the girl. His heart is not in it.

 _She was my ally once,_ he thinks. _And always an innocent, in spite of her knives._

The Wildlings, Unsullied, and Dothraki are hanged in the streets of King's Landing, their faces purpling, as a reminder of what happens to those who rebel against the rightful queen. It matters naught that none of them are subjects of the Seven Kingdoms, it just matters that they were armed and had their blades turned Cersei's way.

After Lady Sansa's death, blood running in rivulets along the city streets, Cersei comes to him, claws drawn.

"She thought she could outsmart me, the little bitch," Cersei crows as she bites at the meat of his shoulder, drawing more blood. "But she was a fool. All of them fools. I won. I _won,_ in a way father never believed I could. _Me._ "

Jaime rises from his sister's bed in the morning bloodied and bruised, his whole body aching, and tries not to think of lying with a woman who had delicately cradled his face in her calloused hands, had kissed his brow, and had held him after they were finished. 

He goes into the gardens to hear the birds sing and tries not to feel dead.

That had always been the plan: dying. Jaime Lannister had left his love in the snow so he could return to his sister and _die_ with her. They were the hateful, incestuous Lannister twins who had torn apart the Seven Kingdoms with their lusts, and it was only right that he should die by her side when the end came. Unfortunately, the gods had not let him die. Instead, he lives as a man tormented.

Later that morning, Jaime's sister calls him to the throne room in the Red Keep. Workmen are still doing repairs, but Cersei can only flex her power backed by the barbed authority of the Iron Throne, so she conducts most affairs from the half-collapsed room, Jaime installed in a lower chair. Her pet. The surviving prisoners are brought in one at a time, chains weighing them down, to face their fate at the hands of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Bring in the next prisoner," says Cersei, the rings on her fingers catching in the dim light. Jaime is surprised that they do, considering the city's air is still choked with smoke. " _Now."_

She is obeyed at once, and the doors swing open as two Gold Cloaks escort the latest piece of fresh meat in to meet her predator. Jaime has watched so many people be devoured by his sister, her green eyes burning like the fire she had used to consume the city. Relishing her power, she would smile as she condemned person after person to fire and noose and flame and darkness and death...

"Send him to the dungeons. I do not wish to see his face again."

"Hang him. It is the only death fitting for a traitor."

"Gut him before he dies. The carrions can eat his entrails."

And Jaime just watches, unmoving. There is nothing left of him anymore, anyway. Sitting in his low chair, he goes away inside as his sister acts as the Mad King did - burning and laughing and burning and laughing - while casting him as her loyal lieutenant. In the days at Aerys' court, Jaime had often thought of Cersei's arms and Cersei's kisses to soften the pain, but now he thinks of someone else. Brienne had never been scared of touching his face as they kissed, or of looking into his eyes as she brought him off with her hand, or of stroking his back comfortingly after sex. That month with her had been the sweetest of his entire life, and it is there he retreats to escape; to Brienne's soft kisses, to the feel of her breasts, and the way she wrapped her long limbs around him as they slept. In fact, Jaime is so busy imagining the exact shade of her blue eyes that he almost does not recognise her when she enters the throne room - Gold Cloaks either side of her - her chin tilted upwards in her defiance.

Unfortunately, Cersei is not so absentminded.

"Ah," she smiles, almost licking her lips at the sight of such a tasty meal. "The Maid of Tarth."

Brienne does not flinch, even as Jaime does. There is something in that word - _maid_ \- that poisonous lie, that seeps into Jaime's very bones. Brienne being publicly known as the Maid of Tarth hurts him deeply. It is a denial of what they were to one another, of what they _did_ together. Only Jaime and Brienne know that he had taken her virginity on that cold, dark night in Winterfell, sweaty and silent in the glow of the fire. Defenceless, Jaime had finally surrendered to the feelings he had long buried deep in his chest and, as he chased her hips to the bed, he had finally accepted that he loved Brienne with his all his heart.

At Winterfell with her, he was Jaime. Here, he is forever the Kingslayer.

Although he is staring at her hard enough to graze her skin, "The Maid of Tarth" does not even look at him. Instead, all her attention is on the Queen, and her blue eyes are cold in a way he has never seen them before. The court waits, hanging by a thread, for her answer.

"I am she," replies Brienne, owning the lie.

The air crackles with tension. "Did I tell you that you could speak?" snaps Cersei. "I am the Queen, and it is _I_ who decides when you use your tongue."

Brienne does not say a word - which is the only successful countermove - but continues to stare at Cersei in condemnation. Although her gaze is burning and blistering, Jaime cannot help but wish she would turn it on him. The selfish part of him longs for her acknowledgement and to know that he still means something to her, even if she now hates him. Yet Brienne does not deign him with this small kindness, as she is too busy defiantly refusing to wilt in Cersei's rage.

"Your silly little Stark girl is dead," says Cersei, trying to provoke a reaction. "I have had her head mounted on the Red Keep. I will take you to see her, if you want. She is still pretty... even though the birds have pecked out her eyes."

Jaime knows Brienne well, so he can see her heartbreak rippling under her stoic expression. It is like a storm he senses in the distance; quiet now, but he still senses its power. Even though they have disarmed her - he wonders where Oathkeeper is - Brienne is still majestic, still wonderful, still the only light in any room.

Gods, he loves her.

Gods, he wishes he were dead.

"I do not wish to see my lady's head, Your Grace."

Although her tone is level, there is such defiance in Brienne's tone that Cersei gets to her feet, her crown catching in her light. "If I wish for you to see Sansa Stark's rotting head, then that is what you shall do. I am your _queen._ "

Brienne's lips - her soft kissable lips - turn into a thin, hard line. "You are _the_ queen."

The insult whistles through the air like a blade cutting through naked flesh, instantly bloody.

"How dare you! I am _your_ queen!" hisses Cersei. "You are my subject!"

Drunk on rage, Cersei lunges forward, her green eyes flashing like wildfire, and Jaime is up on his feet before he even has time to think. Slipping between his sister and his soulmate, Jaime opened his arms wide in front of Brienne, just as he had once done when facing a bear. The gathered courtiers steal a breath.

"Brienne did not mean to speak so rudely, Your Grace," he says, even though he knows that Brienne had always picked her words with deliberation. "She is grieving. When she is over her pain, she will be more amenable..."

"More amenable?" Cersei's voice is cold, and she does not look at Jaime, but at Brienne who is just visible over his shoulder. "How do you know whether _Brienne_ will be more amendable when her mood has improved, brother?"

Jaime flinches as Cersei echoes his own slip of the tongue - Brienne rather than _Lady_ Brienne - right back at him. In the years since Brienne had returned him to King's Landing, Jaime had learnt to keep her close to his chest, lest Cersei realise that she represented some small, delicate, wonderful thing outside himself that he truly treasured. And now, in one careless slip of the tongue, he had betrayed that intimacy for all to see.

"I... I..."

Cersei pushes past him, her eyes locked on Brienne. "Lady Brienne," she says, her voice silk soft, as if she is trying to be charming. Jaime knows it concealed a dagger before Cersei reveals it. "Are you still a maid?"

Jaime's shoulders sag. He knows that Cersei has a scent in her nostrils, and that she is going to chase her prey until she falls. Brienne may be skilled with a sword, but her tongue is not as sharp as his sweet sister's. Therefore, he is not prepared for Brienne to answer as calmly as she does, lying as easily as telling the truth.

"Yes, Your Grace. I am still a maid."

 _Liar,_ he thinks. Jaime remembers the way he had settled between her thighs, her hands in hair, as he thrust inside her that first time, taking care not to hurt her. "I am not so fragile," Brienne had moaned, clutching at his arse with bruising intensity. "I want you, Jaime. _Please._ "

Wanting to make her happy, Jaime had buried himself inside her without so much as another thought. Unable to stop himself, he had come after a further three short thrusts.

 _No, it is I who am the fragile one,_ he thinks, as he watches Cersei appraise Brienne, as if trying to unlock some truth she can use to manipulate her with. _It is I who cannot bear you denying the time we had together, wench._

"A maid at your age," says Cersei cruelly, circling Brienne to intimidate her. "Why? Did no man want you?"

Brienne does not even look marginally upset when she answers Cersei, and definitely does not steal a glance at Jaime. "No man has ever wanted me, Your Grace. I was born to serve as a sworn sword... as a knight."

Jaime remembers how Brienne had smiled the night he had given her that dream, thankful and heartfelt and full of hope. In contrast, the way Cersei smiles is cold.

"To serve traitors." Cersei snaps back, before clapping her hands. "Guards, take her to the dungeons. I would have her dead like her mistress, the Stark bitch. That she is a maid will not protect her."

The Gold Cloaks step forward once more and seize Brienne by the arms, but she does not object. In fact, she looks resigned to her fate. It tears Jaime's heart clean in two; he is the dead one, she should be living. Brienne's light should never be extinguished, least of all by Cersei. He had tried to keep them apart, after all.

"Cersei," he stammers, clutching at her shoulder in an effort to get her to listen, to try to get her to focus on something other than vengeance and violence for once. "Don't kill her, please. She... she... is an innocent _,_ her father's only heir. Send her back to Lord Tarth; he will keep her quiet on the godforsaken island of hers, and the fact that you showed mercy would earn you his allegiance for life. It would be the sensible thing to do for your realm... the _merciful_ thing to do."

Cersei's emerald eyes flick from Jaime to Brienne and back again, as if she is weighing them both up on a set of scales. Brienne continues to give her very little, so the Queen locks onto Jaime. Feeling as if he is being examined, Jaime removes his hand from his sister's shoulder and tries to hide how furiously his heart is beating against his ribs.

Cersei smiles at him softly, with a hint of something else behind her eyes. "What would you give me in order to assure mercy for the Lady Brienne, brother?"

"Anything," he says, throatily.

Cersei's malice glimmers. "Then kneel _."_

"I..."

"I said _kneel._ "

There is a hush from everyone in the room - courtiers and Gold Cloaks alike - as he watches his sister. For the first time in his life, Jaime recognises a strange emotion on her face that looks something like resentment. He wonders why. Is it because she has finally recognised his feeling for Brienne as something more than regard? Or is it something more deep seated? Does Cersei relish seeing Tywin Lannister's golden boy kneeling for her?

Jaime does it slowly, holding his hands up in a kind of surrender. This is not the first time he has knelt for Cersei - in previous years, it had been in more pleasurable circumstances - but this is the only time he can remember such naked powerplay being involved. Once he feels the hard stone of the floor against his knees, Jaime looks up at Cersei and hopes to see the girl he once loved looking back.

"I beg you for mercy for Lady Brienne, Your Grace. _Please."_

Cersei gazes down at him, as pleased as a tomcat having spotted a plump little mouse. She waits for a moment, satisfied with her prize, before holding out her hand to him.

"Kiss my ring, and I might be moved to hear your plea."

The cold gold of his false hand catches Cersei's fingers in his haste to press kisses to the outlandish ruby ring she wears on her finger, and his teeth tap against the jewel in his ardent desire to please his Queen. "Please, Cersei... my queen," Jaime breathes, not caring that he is pouring what remains of his dignity on the floor. He would do it for Brienne. "Please, spare her."

When Cersei has had enough of his prostration, she drops her hand. "Stand up."

He obeys her in a heartbeat, knowing he can't sink lower in Brienne's eyes. Once he is up on his feet again, Cersei steps forward, takes his face in her hands and kisses him passionately, the eyes of everyone upon them. Once, being out in the open with Cersei had been everything Jaime had ever wanted, but now it makes him feel cringing and small, especially with the eyes of the entire court and Brienne of Tarth on him. When Cersei pulls away, she does not stroke his cheeks or smile at him. Instead, she turns instantly to Brienne, who looks more deflated than when she had first been brought into the room.

"My brother has persuaded me of the value of mercy," says Cersei loudly as she steps towards Brienne, her eyes glinting. "Brienne of Tarth will become one of my ladies and will be kept here in the capital until such a time when she has proven her loyalty." While keeping her eyes on Brienne, she brushes Jaime's shoulder. "Perhaps I could find her a husband... a husband who never had a hope in hell of loving her anyway."

Jaime had thought that returning to Cersei would be the end; they would die together, and with their deaths the cycle of violence they had started through their illicit affair would finally come to an end. Not being a believer, he had imagined that he would just slip away into nothingness, free from both Cersei's sharp claws and Brienne's condemning eyes. Unfortunately, the gods were vicious cunts, so they had turned King's Landing into all Seven Hells and tormented him in every single one.

Some nights, Cersei comes to him and holds nothing back. There are no sweet kisses or gentle touches; she pulls his hair and bites him, scratching his back so hard it bleeds. Jaime hates every moment, but at least it is better than the nights she does not come to him, as he knows that she will be punishing some unlucky person who deserves it so much less than him.

 _Perhaps Brienne,_ he thinks, horrifyingly, even as he hopes and prays that she is safe in her bed. _Please not Brienne. Please, please not Brienne._

When he sees Brienne, she often looks tired. Cersei parades her around in ugly dress after ugly dress and forces her to sit with the other ladies stitching and sewing and doing "womanly" things. He can see how sad she looks and wants nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, run his fingers through her hair, kiss her, and tell her that she will soon be free, he promises. He will find some way to get her out of this hell; somehow, some way...

He doesn't go near her, of course, but the idea haunts his dreams.

The only times he does see her is when Cersei forces him to stay in bed with her in the morning, and she summons Brienne to bring her breakfast, fold her clothes, and pour her wine. Brienne moves around the room silently, keeping eyes on her task, even as Cersei rolls over and begins to run her fingers through Jaime's chest hair. He swallows and keeps his eyes on the bed's canopy. It is better to pretend that a woman he once loved is rendering him meat.

"Thank you for last night, brother," she purrs, her voice low but loud enough for Brienne to hear. He nods stiffly. He barely remembers last night; he had been too busy imagining Brienne. "You did well to serve your queen."

If Cersei had thought to get a rise out of Brienne, she fails, as the world's most perfect knight merely turns to Cersei with those deep, condemning eyes of hers and says, "is there anything else, Your Grace?" She does not even give Jaime so much as a second glance.

In fact, Brienne keeps her distance, until one day she comes upon him accidentally. Jaime had retired to one of the royal family's private chambers to read. Although he finds it hard to parse out the words, he had ordered one of the castle scribes to find him a copy of _The Tales of Galladon of Morne._ Back in Winterfell, Brienne had taken to telling him a few as he lay in her arms, and he had wanted to finish them in the absence of the song they would never sing together.

He only looks up when she comes clattering into the room, her hands bloody from her bad stitching.

"Lady Brienne!" he cries, dropping the book onto the table as she walks further into the room. He wonders if she finally wants to talk. "What are you doing here?"

Brienne does not meet his eye. "The Usurper wants some more thread for the embroidery on her new dress. I have been sent to retrieve it; Septa Donyse has said it is in here."

Jaime nods in order to break the impasse, which allows Brienne to begin her search for the thread. The few moments of silence that follow are so unbearable, that Jaime eventually decides to fill them with something.

"These Galladon of Morne stories are very good, Brienne. I wanted to finish them... I wanted to..." She does not say anything, but continues to move around the room, her skirt swishing against the floor. "Brienne, will you speak to me?"

"No."

That hurts. "Why?"

"You said your goodbye," she says firmly, searching through drawer after drawer. "I don't see the point in talking anymore. You made your choice."

Jaime remembers how she had smiled and blushed when he kissed her in their bed, her strong arms wrapped around him. It is the sweetest thing he has ever known. "I don't think you understood my choice... why I did what I did..."

"I do, Jaime, honestly," she interrupts, finally finding both the thread and his name in one of the drawers. "You went back to your sister. You do not need to lie to me or tell me some fairy tale. I know what happened."

Getting up from his chair, Jaime steps forward and tries to take her hand, but she flinches away from him, leaving him with nothing but his words to console her. "I don't think you do. To me, it seems you believe I have never..." (He wants to say _loved,_ but he doesn't) "... cared for you. And that is simply untrue."

She lets out a derisive snort, still refusing to look at him. "I wonder what led me to believe that."

The ice cold wind whirls around his feet, in memory of that night at Winterfell. If only he could go back in time and ride into that courtyard, telling her that it was her that he wanted, and it was only hurt and guilt and pain pulling him back to Cersei.

"Why do you think I got on my knees and begged for your life before the entire court?" Jaime says, not willing to leave her with a lie. "Why do you think I asked that you be sent back to your father, so you would be _safe?"_

With that question, Brienne finally looks up at him, allowing him to gaze into her wondrous blue eyes for what feels like the first time in forever. Unfortunately, he is horrified to find that they are full of disdain.

"Honestly, Kingslayer, I have no idea."

As Jaime's heart smashes on the floor, Brienne turns to leave the room, leaving him alone without another word.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you like this different take on the "Unspoken" theme.


End file.
